Think back about three weeks, to April 16. The day started off cloudy but weather forecasters were warning that some vicious storms were making their way up the coast from the South. I went to a shower in Brooklyn under gray skies; I went on to a send-off in Rosebank for a young man going into the Army. By the time I left that, the rain had begun.

Still suffering from a cold that I swear I’ve had for two months, maybe more, I made my way home and was happy to be there — alone and with a whole night ahead of me.

But it wasn’t long before the showers turned vicious. Rain was pelting the windows; the wind was whipping. I could hear it hit one side of my house, round the corner and whistle along the other side. Garbage cans outside toppled. Luckily, the power stayed on.

I grew increasingly uneasy. I knew my three grown sons were safe, but, irrationally, it was hard not to fret about them. If I sat down to read, all I could hear was the wind. Despite having access to what must be thousands of TV channels, I’m not a huge fan and couldn’t find anything of interest to distract me.

I finally got in pajamas, took a book and tucked myself into bed — safe, secure, warm and dry.

Not much more than 100 yards away in St. George, another mother was sitting all by herself. I’ll call her Mother Goose. She was not in bed with the covers pulled over her head. In fact, she couldn’t have been more exposed — perched as she was atop a round, raggedy nest on a rotting wooden pier that is ever so slowly sinking into New York Harbor. She sat on that nest at the alert as the rain washed down over her chest and as the salt water lapped ever closer from below. When lightning flashed, she had (no pun intended) a bird’s eye view of it.

My brother watches this goose from his window every year because she returns each spring to hatch new babies. She picked the pier for practical reasons: She’s safe from raccoons and other animals because the wood no longer connects to the shore.

My brother expects that her goslings will hatch any day now. But until they do, Mother Goose doesn’t budge from her resting place — not even to feed. Her mate occasionally makes a fly-by to ensure that she’s still on-task, but on the night of April 16, he was nowhere around, likely holed up in some shelter, safe from the storm.

He knows his mate well, it seems. There was no need to check on her. As the water underneath rose ever higher, Mother Goose sat calmly atop her eggs, keeping them warm and dry. Did she have any clue that if the water came much higher, the waves would sweep away her nest — and its precious cargo?

If she did, she didn’t show it. She stood down that rising tide, and just in the nick of time, it began to recede, leaving her untouched and her eggs intact.

That’s what good moms do. They stay the course with their kids, sheltering them from harm as much as possible and defending their right to be.

If there’s anybody who’s got your back, it’s your mother. Make sure you tell her how much you love her on Sunday, Mother’s Day — whether you have to whisper it up to the heavens or can reach out and give her a hug. She’s earned this — and so much more.

I know, because I am a mother, and it’s nothing if not hard work. But if anything can be called a labor of love, caring for your children is it.

Good luck with your little ones, Mother Goose. Hopefully, they will sense what you did for them on April 16, and in turn, do you proud.

Comments? Feel free to e-mail me at hack@siadvance.com or call at 718-816-8350. And thanks so much for reading.